


A Lousy Birthday

by crunchie_morris



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 14:00:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12110265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crunchie_morris/pseuds/crunchie_morris
Summary: "Crutchie was more than ready for his 17th birthday to be over." (Birthday gift for @StarrKiwi!)





	A Lousy Birthday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StarrKiwi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarrKiwi/gifts).



> One of these days I'll post something that doesn't just focus on Crutchie and Jack,,,,,but today is not that day

Crutchie was more than ready for his 17th birthday to be over. 

The great day had begun with the warm wake-up call of Specs yelling at Albert to “give him his damn glasses back or you'll be nursing a broken nose.” Of course, as Specs’ bunk was right next to Crutchie’s, this was hard to ignore.

The day continued with the world’s lousiest headline. “No one cares about a stalled train,” Crutchie muttered as he flipped through his stack of papers. “Unless it was a deadly crash, people ain't interested.”

Just when he thought the slow day couldn't get any worse, the aching in his leg told him that a storm was coming, a  _ bad  _ one. He hoped and prayed to whatever might be up there that the rain could hold off at least until he got back to the lodging house. But, no such luck. At noon sharp, the sky opened up and poured down buckets of rain, soiling his papers and making his leg stiffer than an unoiled machine. 

Despite all of this, the worst part about this had to be the fact that nobody, not one single person, had said “happy birthday.” Not even Jack! Sure, Crutchie didn't expect presents, or cake, or anything fancy like that, but a little acknowledgement would have been nice. 

_ I'm probably asking for too much,  _ Crutchie thought as he trudged back to the Lodging House, using his many leftover papers as a makeshift umbrella.  _ Mom and Dad never said ‘happy birthday’ - why should the fellas? _

But, they always had before. He’d been shocked the first time it happened. A few weeks after his 10th birthday, he'd overheard Jack telling someone that Crutchie was 9. “10 actually,” Crutchie had chimed in.

“Since when?” Jack raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, looking somewhat skeptical.

“September 16th,” Crutchie replied. 

“That was last month!” Jack exclaimed. “Why didn't you tell no one?”

Crutchie had shrugged. “It's not important.”

Jack dropped whatever he'd been doing and marched Crutchie down to the bakery. As Crutchie protested, he slammed his pocket money on the counter, asking for “the best, most perfect slice of strawberry cake in all of Manhattan.”

Since then, the boys had always wished him a happy birthday. They'd usually pool their money to get him a few new things, like a new hat, a book, or a new crutch if he'd grown taller. To top it off, Jack always got him strawberry cake. 

Now, Crutchie couldn't figure out what had changed. He felt his stomach flip at the thought that maybe they'd finally gotten sick of him. Maybe his parents and Snyder were right - he  _ was _ no good, he  _ was  _ a burden. 

Crutchie shook his head, feeling ink spill down his cheek as the rain washed it off the papers on his head. If that was the case, if they really were sick of him, fine then. He didn't need them, now did he? He'd spent years taking care of himself. He’d done it before and he could do it again. 

Crutchie sighed and pushed open the doors to the Lodging House as he thought this. 

“Surprise!”

Crutchie blinked. All the boys popped up from behind bunks and cabinets. A banner hung from one of the bunks in the back, the words “Happy 17th Crutchie!” painted on in messy handwriting he recognized recognised as Jack. 

And speak of the devil - Jack came rushing down from the staircase that led to the roof, boxes upon boxes wrapped in yesterday’s papers piled up in his hands. “Did I miss him?”

“Sure did, Kelly,” Race snorted. “Told ya you shoulda waited ‘til he got here to grab the gifts.” Race turned to Crutchie. “This was all his doing, by the way.”

Crutchie smirked. “What is this?”

“A surprise party,” Jack grinned, setting the gifts down on a table next to a strawberry cake. (That's right - a  _ whole  _ strawberry cake.) “I thought we'd mix it up this year and make it a little bigger - ‘cause why not? You deserve it.”

Crutchie shook his head. “Jack - how much did this cost?”

Jack waved him off. “That don't matter - you're worth a million more.”

Crutchie smiled and leaned into Jack for a hug. “I love you, Jack.”

“Get a room, you saps!” Albert shouted. “Now, are we gonna dig into this cake or what?”

Jack rolled his eyes at Albert. “I love you too, Crutchie.”

Crutchie beamed. Maybe he wasn't ready for his birthday to be over after all. 


End file.
